


The New Normal

by Rocky_T



Series: Tightrope [6]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:35:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25299232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rocky_T/pseuds/Rocky_T
Summary: One week after the events of "Caretaker", the crew ofVoyagerstruggles to adjust to their new normal.
Relationships: Kathryn Janeway & Tom Paris, Kathryn Janeway/Owen Paris
Series: Tightrope [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1797067
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	The New Normal

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place right before episode 3 "Parallax."
> 
> Many thanks to Seema for the beta.

_Faith is the bird that feels the light and sings when the dawn is still dark._  
\-- Rabindranath Tagore

Tom Paris sat at _Voyager_ ’s helm, deftly piloting the ship through an asteroid belt. The low-density field didn’t take much of his concentration to navigate, leaving him free to ruminate on recent events; he was still trying to make sense of it all.

Six days earlier, Chakotay had rammed the _Val Jean_ into the Kazon warship to hold the marauders off and give Janeway and Tuvok time to access the Array. But instead of using it to send them home, Janeway had opted instead to destroy the Array, effectively stranding them all – Starfleet and Maquis – in the Delta Quadrant. Her action hadn’t won her any popularity contests among the Maquis _or_ the Starfleet personnel. Reactions from both groups had ranged from outright rage and recriminations (mostly Maquis) to stunned surprise (mostly Starfleet) to quiet muttering in corners (both). After the shock had had a chance to dissipate somewhat, most people had grudgingly agreed that it had been the right decision, or at least the moral one; no one was willing to go on record as being in favor of sacrificing the lives of the Ocampa just to get home. 

The dust hadn’t settled when Janeway had announced they’d be merging the two crews. Chakotay’s elevation to first officer, and his unwavering support of the captain’s decisions, had gone a long way toward winning the Maquis’ acceptance of the plan. Janeway had spoken optimistically of working together to find a way home, whether through wormhole or other spatial phenomena, or just plain perseverance. Tom didn’t know how many people on board believed her, thought she would _really_ get them home. He would not have given odds of it happening, despite Janeway’s evident sincerity; a lot could happen in 70 years in unfamiliar territory. But Tom knew all about authority figures who assumed they could twist events to their will, force the situation to change and yield their desired outcome. As he knew from painful experience, they always fell short in the end.

But for now, they were survivors, and despite some rationing of resources, they were in relatively comfortable circumstances. The Maquis, for all their attitude, were grateful not to be in the brig or stranded on some god-forsaken planet. The more disciplined among them even seemed to be settling in, or starting to. Tom counted himself lucky as well, even though he was aware he was still eyed askance by both groups, despite his heroics on Ocampa, and despite – or maybe due to – Janeway making him the chief flight operations officer. Tom grimaced involuntarily. Neither he nor Janeway had gone out of their way to announce their familial relationship, and yet somehow word had still gotten around. 

Just that morning in the Mess Hall, he was sitting at a table – alone – when Dalby and Henley confronted him. 

“Hey, Paris,” Henley said, her voice dripping in derision, “Scuttlebutt has it that Janeway’s your stepmother.”

“That’s right,” Tom said, keeping his gaze trained on the tray in front of him. He took another bite of his suddenly tasteless breakfast. 

“It makes sense now,” Dalby said with a sneer. “Why a waste of space like you got such a cushy assignment on board _Voyager_.”

“Yeah,” Henley said knowingly. “The sky’s the limit when you’ve got family in high places.” 

“Or is it low places?” added Dalby with a lascivious lick of his lips. “I can just see it now, Janeway on her knees, sucking your old man’s dick. She ever offer to give you a turn?”

Tom clutched his fork so hard his knuckles turned white, but managed not to answer. 

Laughing derisively, the two Maquis sauntered away.

Now Tom made another adjustment to his controls and confirmed the readings on the nav console in front of him. “We’ve cleared the asteroid field, Captain,” he said.

“Confirmed,” Harry Kim said from Ops.

“Nice work,” Janeway said approvingly. Tom half-turned in his seat and saw the captain rise from her chair and turn to her first officer. “I’ll be in my Ready Room.”

“Aye, Captain,” Chakotay said with a smile.

Janeway smiled in return and crossed the expanse of the bridge. Tom watched her go and realized he was not the only one. Chakotay’s eyes were also on the captain’s retreating figure. _Is he checking out her ass?_ Tom thought indignantly, and then pulled himself up short, wondering where the anger came from. He couldn’t really blame the man; he grimaced again, remembering the first time he had laid eyes on Kathryn Janeway.

It had been the occasion of Tom’s sister Moira’s wedding. His parents’ divorce had been finalized 3 months earlier. Tom was a first year cadet at the Academy, and full of acrimony toward his father. During the outdoor reception, his glance fell on a new arrival, a woman wearing a little black silk dress, cut low in front but with a bolero jacket on top for propriety’s sake. Her auburn hair was arranged in a chignon and her dangling pearl earrings drew attention to her long slender neck and delicate features. He promptly moved over to speak with her.

“Welcome,” he said, flashing her a smile. “I’m Tom Paris, brother of the bride.” 

“Kathryn Janeway,” she said.

He plucked two flutes of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray and proffered one in her direction. “Would you like a drink, Kathryn?”

“Thank you,” she said, taking the glass. His fingers brushed hers as she did so. The sensation was electric.

“So, are you a friend of Moira’s?” he said, turning on the charm. She looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties, but that was no obstacle in Tom’s mind. Some of his previous conquests had been considerably older than him. He raised his glass in salute.

Kathryn took a sip of champagne. “Actually, I’m an old friend of your father’s,” she said, her amusement evident in her voice. “Hello, Owen.”

Tom turned around to see his father approaching.

“Kathryn, I’m so glad you could make it!” Owen said enthusiastically as he clasped her hand in between his. 

“So am I,” Kathryn said, meeting his eyes and smiling as she gave him her full attention. “We docked at 0700 this morning, and I can’t tell you how happy I was when I realized I hadn’t missed the wedding.”

As if suddenly becoming aware of his son’s presence, Owen turned to Tom. “Kathryn was named brevet captain of the _Halcyon_ a couple of months ago when her commanding officer became very ill,” he explained. “They just returned from a very successful scientific mission in the Beta Quadrant, due in no small part to her efforts.”

“Oh, please, don’t exaggerate,” Kathryn said, her face a bit pink but clearly pleased at the praise. “It wasn’t that big a deal.”

“No false modesty,” he admonished her. “Your star is definitely rising. Rumor has it you’ll get your first command with a promotion to captain very soon.”

“That remains to be seen,” Kathryn said but a small smile played around her mouth.

Owen plucked her half-empty glass from her hand and handed it to Tom. “Take care of this, won’t you?” Without waiting for a response, he offered Kathryn his arm. “Let’s go find a quiet place where we can catch up.”

Tom watched them walk away, chagrined as he put two and two together and realized that this was likely the woman his father was always talking about. The Admiral’s young protégée at the Academy, who’d gone on to serve under him in a succession of posts. Tom should have recognized the name; God knows he’d heard it often enough, and not just from his father’s lips. On at least one occasion, Julia Paris had complained about her husband spending what she considered an excessive amount of time with this particular officer, considering he was supposed to have been on leave.

Without consciously deciding to do so, he found himself following his father and Kathryn. They halted at the little gazebo in the far corner of the grounds, and Tom ducked behind a tree and eavesdropped shamelessly.

“You look wonderful,” Owen said, his attention rapt on her face, practically devouring her with his eyes.

“You look very dashing yourself in your tux,” Kathryn replied with a smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out of uniform before.”

“Moira insisted she wasn’t going to have her wedding ‘co-opted by Starfleet’, whatever that means,” Owen said ruefully. “Hence, no uniforms. And may I say, that dress does you justice in ways no uniform ever could.”

“Wait till I have my fourth pip,” she said playfully. She touched him lightly on the arm. “I should go and give my best to Mrs. Paris. Come with me?”

Owen cleared his throat. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, Kathryn, but Julia and I divorced a few months ago.”

“No, I hadn’t,” Kathryn said, her tone sympathetic but not dismayed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said immediately. “It was a long time coming. Starfleet can be hard on a marriage.”

Kathryn gave a tiny nod. “How are you doing?” 

“I’m fine. It’s a relief actually.” Owen looked away for a moment. “Of course, the children aren’t taking it very well. They blame me.” He sighed. “So other than playing the limited role of ‘father of the bride’, I’m practically _persona non grata_.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Kathryn said softly. She was standing so close to Owen there was barely any daylight between them. Her hand rested on Owen’s arm, a gesture that struck Tom as being extremely familiar.

With a start, Tom realized this intimate scene was not something he should – or wanted to – observe any further. He hurriedly moved off to perform his ushering duties before the ceremony. 

His father married Kathryn Janeway three months later after a whirlwind courtship. True to Owen’s prediction, the wedding was followed in rapid succession by her promotion to captain and the receipt of her first command.

Tom’s reverie was broken when he received a hail. “Lieutenant Paris, I’d like to see you in my Ready Room.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tom said, knowing full well how much she disliked that form of address. He stood and stretched, waiting for his relief, Culhane, to take over. “She’s all yours, Freddie.”

Culhane nodded curtly; he had been Stadi’s second-in-command and had fully expected to become the primary flight con officer after her death. Remembering Stadi, Tom sighed inwardly and made his way to the Ready Room door, feeling the eyes of the bridge crew upon him. He signaled.

“Enter.” The captain looked up from her console and gave him a smile. “Have a seat, Tom.”

Tom sat down, looking around him. He saw a few framed holos on a table off to the side, most of them of people he didn’t know. He assumed they were Kathryn’s family members. There was one holo of her crouching on a beach, her long hair whipped around by the wind, and her arm around a large Irish setter. Tom smirked; the Admiral was most emphatically not a dog person. The last holo showed his father and Kathryn posing together, both of them in formal civilian clothing; with a shock, Tom realized it had been taken at Moira’s wedding. The image looked entirely proper to a casual observer, a meeting of old acquaintances, but he knew what had been _really_ going on behind the scenes.

“How is it going?” she asked him.

He knew she wanted to know how people on board _Voyager_ were treating him. “Well, now that Cavit and Dr. Fitzgerald are dead, there isn’t an organized cabal out to get me, so I guess I’m doing fine.”

Her mouth tightened, and he regretted his flippant remark. Though her outward demeanor hadn’t changed, he assumed she’d been deeply affected by the loss of so many of her senior officers. He hadn’t meant to make light of her grief.

He cleared his throat and tried again. “The regular Starfleet crew doesn’t bother me because everyone knows I’m related to the captain.” He tried to keep his tone neutral but couldn’t help wincing as he recalled Neelix’s effusive reaction to the news. “And since I saved Chakotay’s life, I don’t have to worry about any of the Maquis touching me.”

Janeway sighed. “That’s not quite what I meant.” She gazed at him for a long moment. “Have you made any friends on board?”

 _Only dead people._ Aloud, Tom said, “Other than Harry Kim, no, and the kid is too naïve to realize he’s made a bad choice.” He couldn’t resist adding, “I know he was warned to stay away from me, but Harry said he can made up his own mind and pick his own friends.” He forced down the warm feeling that rose inside him at that memory. “Like I said, naïve.”

Janeway smiled, and Tom thought she looked a little bit relieved. “I wouldn’t call it naiveté but a mature young officer.” She leaned forward. “I’m glad you have that to build on,” she said warmly. “With shipboard assignments, your social life is every bit as important as your professional one.”

Tom’s natural instinct was to retort she wasn’t his mother and therefore his social life was none of her concern, but he knew she was trying to be nice. And more importantly, he really did owe her. “Speaking of which, I never thanked you for the field commission rank of lieutenant,” Tom said awkwardly.

Janeway dismissed his words with a wave of her hand. “That’s where you should have been now in your career, if things had gone otherwise.”

“Well, I’m afraid your grand plans for my rehab have hit a snag,” he drawled, “seeing that we’re 70,000 light years from home.”

“Just because we’re out here doesn’t mean you can’t continue rebuilding your self-image and your career,” Janeway said firmly. “In fact, you’re going to have _more_ opportunity to step up your game while we’re out here.” She paused. “Honestly, I’m going to need you to do just that.”

Something in her eyes made him say, “Does this mean you’re giving up hope? Or maybe you never meant your brave speech about how we are still going to get home one day.” He felt a pang of dismay that this would be so.

“Giving up is not in my vocabulary,” she said flatly. “It may take years, but I _will_ get my crew home.”

Tom laid the palms of his hands flat against her desk top. “You really believe that, don’t you?” he challenged. “That we’re going to reunite with all our loved ones.”

“I need to believe,” she said in a low voice. She looked suddenly vulnerable, an emotion he’d never have associated with her. “If by willing it, I can do it, then yes.”

“You love my father that much?” Tom asked. “Or are you wondering how long it will take him to find your replacement?”

The moment of softness was gone, and her mouth tightened. “As I’ve said before, I’m not going to discuss my relationship with your father.” She paused. “But I know he has faith in me, and I have faith in myself.”

He studied her, wondering from what inner wellspring she drew her seemingly unlimited confidence – and who she really was. Kathryn Janeway, his father’s wife, the woman who’d gotten him out of prison in return for a favor, the steely-eyed captain who faced down enemies without missing a beat. Most recently, he’d seen the faces of the bridge crew turned to her in times of crisis, the way they regarded her as if she was their only hope. “The crew has faith in you, too,” he blurted out. 

Her eyes softened. She came around to stand next to him and squeezed his shoulder sympathetically. “Have faith in yourself, Tom. It will take a while for you to find yourself, I know, to become the man who you were meant to be.”

 _Too much_. Tom instinctively pulled back from the wave of emotion that threatened to engulf him. In his best sarcastic tone, he said, “Is this the part where you tell me that when we _do_ get home, my father will be proud of me?” As if the Admiral could ever be brought to change his mind about anything. 

A note of uncertainty wafted over her features for a moment. “The first and most important person you to need to prove yourself to is Tom Paris,” she pointed out.

Tom pushed his chair back and stood in a flagrant breach of protocol. “Sorry, I think I’ve hit my limit of self-introspection for the day. Am I dismissed, _Captain_?” he said, emphasizing her title. “Or is there something else you wanted?”

Janeway rubbed the bridge of her nose, looking suddenly tired. “That’s all, Lieutenant. You’re dismissed.”

He left the room hurriedly, refusing to acknowledge the concern – or was it pity? – in her eyes.


End file.
